


Ed's Ghosts

by wonderlandiscrumbling



Category: Gotham - Fandom, Room 104 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ghosts, M/M, Mental Illness, Mentions of Death, Past Child Abuse, hurt needing comfort, season three, slight gore, strange things always happen in room 104
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-19 17:28:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19137334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wonderlandiscrumbling/pseuds/wonderlandiscrumbling
Summary: After dragging Oswald out of the river and getting him into the back of his car Ed does the only thing he can think to do, drive. He drives until they're out of Gotham, before he knows it they arrive at a hotel set just outside of the city and not far from a gas station. It seems the perfect place to hide out until he can get his thoughts in order.





	Ed's Ghosts

Ed’s hand shakes as he manages to insert the key into the lock, his heart slams heavy in his chest, and he’s quite aware of the near dead weight of the man he’s holding up with his free arm. He turns the key, pushes open the door and lets out a sigh of relief as he drags Oswald into room 104. His knees nearly buckle as he drags his friend, his enemy, the man he’s known for nearly two years now to the bed nearest the door. He carefully lays him on its surface. Oswald’s relatively still, his head lolls to the side and he groans in pain, his hands lazily move to the open wound in his abdomen where blood has stained most of his once white shirt. His skin is clammy and shiny with sweat and river water, black hair clinging to his forehead, he lets out a pitiful cry that is reminiscent of a dying animal.

‘Focus Ed, focus, don’t panic.’ He scolds himself as he paces the room carding his fingers through his own hair. He exits the room long enough to retrieve his medical bag from the trunk of his car.

Oswald’s right where he left him when he returns. 

Ed sets the bag down on a small round table, he opens it and begins retrieving antibiotics, pain killers, needle, surgical thread, gauze, and other items he’d stowed away over the months and years. He focuses on tasks; he pushes petty thoughts and suffocating fears to the side and forces himself into what Dr. Thompkins told him is doctor mode. Focus on saving a life, nothing else matters.

He returns to the bed focusing at the task at hand. He’s careful as he undoes and removes Oswald’s tie then begins unbuttoning his shirt peeling it away from his sticky blood-soaked stomach. He unbuckles his belt then unfastens his pants; Oswald reacts to nearly none of this. He worries a couple of times that he’s too far gone, but the very slight rise and fall of his chest is a comfort.

‘Him dying was the whole point of the night.’ A voice inside his head chides.

“Shut up” he whispers harshly to himself.

He finds the easy part is the cleaning the area around the wound, he realizes outside of some slight tearing around the entry point that it could be worse. When he gingerly reaches into the wound with forceps that’s when Oswald grabs at his wrist, eyes barely open as he looks down at him delirious and confused. Ed pauses in his task worried he might have to drug him, he doesn’t want to if he doesn’t necessarily have to.

“It’s okay.” He attempts to calm him. He wants to tell him to trust him, that he isn’t going to hurt him, but he’s the one who put the damn bullet in him, the one who tortured him for a week.

Oswald’s hand drops back to his side, he closes his eyes and is out again in seconds. Ed knows he’s got no more fight in him; his voice is worn raw from screaming and begging at the end of the pier only an hour ago. His heart wrenching pleas and screaming will be something that haunts him forever, it’s a comfort.

‘If he dies, he can join all the other ghosts in your closet.’ He thinks as he carefully retrieves the bullet that by some miracle hasn’t pierced an organ.

The remaining steps are easy, disinfect, sew him up, clean up the area, bandage him up, and now just wait. Waiting is the part that terrifies him. He grabs the wooden chair placed at the small table and drags it to sit by the bed. He closes his eyes as he hangs his head, for a split moment he can smell the floor cleaners, hear the beeping of machines and the sounds of nurses outside his mom’s hospital room idly gossiping as if his mother wasn’t in this room dying before his eyes. When he opens them again, he’s still in the hotel room, sitting on an uncomfortable chair and looking at Oswald. 

He focuses on his chest, the rise and fall that is ever so slight. Tentatively he reaches out and brushes his knuckles against his cheek, he swallows hard as he remembers how Oswald had reached out with bound wrists just wanting to touch his face, one slight show of affection before dying.

“I didn’t…” He stops himself.

He can’t say he didn’t want this, all of this was his idea, his plans.

Oswald groans, he turns his head to face him and Ed tenses. He’s waiting for the shift in the tide, waiting for the inevitable that this man will realize all that happened to him and turn on him. Ed can’t even hold it against him when it does happen, he almost wants to get the gun from the car and hand it to him, tell him to make sure he does it proper.

“Where are we?” Oswald asks, his voice is a raspy whisper, he can tell it hurts to talk.

“We’re in a hotel, we’re fifteen minutes out of the city.”

Laying low at least for now, he already had five texts and six missed calls from both Barbara and Tabitha. He was supposed to check in with them immediately after killing Oswald, but he hadn’t. No instead he’d dragged him out of the water, thrown him into the backseat of his car, and got them out of Gotham at least for now. At least until he had a new plan, a more rational less impulsive plan.

Oswald’s watching him as if he truly sees him, the thought is unnerving and makes Ed squirm in his seat. He wonders if he can see just how unsure he is about everything, can tell his lies from his truths now.

“Why?” He finally asks, a simple question that could pertain to a multitude of matters.

“We need to hide, just for now.” He answers, he knows this isn’t the why.

“No, why didn’t…You pulled me out. Why?”

It isn’t until this moment that Ed realizes he’s lovingly stroking his fingers through his hair, he pulls his hand away folding both hands in his lap feeling suddenly ashamed of himself for the tender action.

“I…What I did to you, I couldn’t do it.” 

It isn’t the most poetic reason in the world and maybe not even the whole truth of it. There is a whole truth, but he doesn’t feel it justifies his actions. 

He tries to find anger or hurt in Oswald’s face but finds nothing, he still seems dazed from the pain and the blood loss, if he makes it through the rest of the morning then they can discuss this further. A part of him almost wants to call for an ambulance, tell them the important details and make himself gone before they can arrive. He wants to return to Gotham long enough to kill Barbara and her goons, take the blame out on them despite them only being the fuse of this situation standing between the bomb and the flame, guiding the fire to ignite this explosion of death. 

He wants to solely blame himself but that feels useless and blaming Oswald causes a pit in his stomach, a sickness fills him when he tries to blame him now.

“Ed, I’m sorry….I know I hurt you.” 

The apology surprises him more than he knows it should, tears sting at his eyes as he looks at the broken mess that is his friend on the bed. There’s deep remorse in Oswald’s eyes as he looks at him, he reaches out a hand towards Ed, he takes hold of his hand giving it a gentle squeeze. He thinks about each complex step that led them to this place and it all comes down to terrible circumstance and stupidity that brought them here.

“Let’s not talk about that now. Just rest, okay?”

His mind is whirring, and he isn’t sure he can find the calculated pre-prepared words to converse about what has happened. Oswald’s exhausted, he’s not in the right mental state to discuss the events of the evening or the past week. 

“You’re staying, right?”

“Of course,”

He nods before closing his eyes, he nuzzles against the pillow under his head and Ed knows soon he’ll be asleep. 

He remains by his bedside, there’s a fear that he’ll stop breathing and if that happens then Ed isn’t sure what the next step would be. He supposes he would have to return to Gotham, tell the Sirens that he’d done what he promised to do, he’d return to the mansion that he no longer feels he has the right to consider home. There’s a tightness in his throat thinking about returning there without Oswald, it feels wrong in some way. That’s why he sits, and he watches him closely, gingerly touches his cheek relieved to feel some semblance of warmth. 

Once he’s more than certain that Oswald won’t die anytime soon, he gets up. He heads towards the small bathroom that only contains a toilet and a bathtub, outside the small room is a spacious counter space with a sink and towels. He closes the door behind him, he turns the water on starting to fill the tub. He strips out of his clothes hating he’s going to have to put them back on once he’s clean. 

He climbs into the tub, he adjusts and groans in annoyance at the way his long legs refuse to cooperate with him in the confines of this small space. He slides down until his head is under the water, he counts to ten and thinks about his childhood home, he thinks of teachers who thought he showed potential while others thought he was bound to be like his father. He counts backwards from ten and thinks of his dad, the hours spent drinking and hiding away in the basement after losing his medical license. His head breaches the surface of the water, he takes air into his starving lungs and wipes at his eyes with the backs of his hands. He vividly pictures his father’s face moments after his mom fell backwards down the stairs her head slamming against the edge of a table, her body crumpled up on the floor like a rag doll.

Ed opens his eyes looking around the small bathroom, it nearly makes him feel claustrophobic. 

He finishes up and gets out of the tub, he grabs a towel from a nearby rack and begins drying off before pulling on his pants and white dress shirt. He exits back into the main room stopping at the sink, despite the knot in his gut he looks up into the mirror. Kristen stands behind the reflection of himself, a coy smile on her face as she twirls the end of her ponytail.

“What do you want?” He asks.

She pouts at his exasperated tone. He tenses when he sees her wrap her arms around him, her hands slowly stroking along his chest, he can almost feel the ghost of her red painted nails scratching against his bare skin.

“You’re the one who brought me out to play. I do have to confess I was wrong to think you’d kill Isabella.”

He wants to tell her what happened to her was an accident. He tells himself daily Kristen’s death hadn’t been purposeful, it hadn’t.

“Just like your daddy.” She whispers in his ear.

He closes his eyes and clutches the countertop. He pictures his father sitting on the floor cradling his mom in his lap, stroking her hair, feeling for a pulse. He had screamed for Ed to call for an ambulance, the paramedics had had to pry him away from her. On the way to the hospital he’d told Ed the story; she’d tripped and fallen down the stairs, say they had no idea how she’d gotten the bruises on her arm.

Unfortunately, Ed hadn’t been able to keep their story straight, it had only taken half an hour speaking with the police for the boy to break down and tell them everything.

When he opens his eyes again Kristen’s gone. He remembers when he would have given anything to see her again, now he’d do anything to make her stay out of his mind. 

He turns away and heads back towards the bed where Oswald is laying, he’s got one hand resting on the bandages on his stomach. He groans and attempts to toss and turn in his sleep, but the pain he’s in keeps his movements limited. 

Ed goes to the bed opposite of his, he pulls back the cheap too thin blankets and crawls underneath. He spends a good half hour tossing and turning before falling into a restless sleep. 

As he dreams, he only dreams of the moments leading up to now; dreams of leading Oswald to the end of the docks, telling him coldly that he doesn’t love him. Listening to him cry and plead for his life, for his affections and forgiveness. There’s a heaviness in his hand as he pulls the trigger, watches the red blooming, the blood pouring through Oswald’s fingers like a sickening waterfall. 

He wakes with a jolt, panic floods him as he jumps out of bed and goes to where the other man lies. He sits beside him on the bed, he reaches and places a hand against his chest sighing with relief as he feels his heart beating. 

He smiles down at him, there’s an urge to press a kiss against his forehead. He gets up from the bed pushing that feeling to the side as he heads towards the sink. He turns on the water and leans down, he lets it fill his cupped hands then splashes it against his face. When he raises back up, he’s startled to see Isabella in the reflection of the mirror, less startled to see an apparition of a dead lover but more startled to see that she looks as she did on the autopsy table. Her skin is grayish, blue veins prominent, her clothes ripped and dirtied, there’s a bend to her neck that isn’t right and blood running down her face. 

“I told him nothing would keep me from you.” She says as she smiles, he shivers feeling uneasy.

“You aren’t real.” He says more to himself than to her, he closes his eyes and counts to ten.

He turns away from the mirror and opens his eyes again. She stands before him; he gasps as he backs up against the counter startled that she’s not restrained by a mirror. She still isn’t real, he knows that she isn’t, ghosts aren’t real, and he’s been told all his life that he’s mentally unwell.

“I’m as real as what you found in your dad’s basement that day.” She says inching closer.

When she touches his cheek, her skin is ice cold, he tenses and thinks about the basement. He thinks about the stolen medical equipment, the corpses of men and women even children, all stolen from the morgue.

He smacks her hand away and pushes past her returning to where the beds are, where Oswald remains sleeping. He starts towards the bed but stops when she suddenly appears at his bedside. He watches as she reaches down to touch her fingers along his cheek, there’s a hate in her eyes that scares him.

“Stop that.” He demands as he makes his way towards her.

“He killed me; he took me away from you.” She says now looking up at him.

He opens his mouth to speak, to explain himself to this ghost created in his mind, but he finds no words.

“You planned it out, you tormented him and shot him for me.” She pauses smiling, “It’s the sweetest thing a guy could ever do for a girl, but then you dredged him up and saved his life. Why?” She asks, her smile fades as she steps towards him.

“I don’t know why, I guess I…I just when I saw him, and he was bleeding I panicked.”

She furrows her brow as she looks at him, “He acted so sure of himself that he could have you, I thought he was a fool for thinking that.” She sighs and looks back towards the man on the bed, she smiles again and looks back at Ed. “It’s not too late to end it.” 

“What?”

She cups his face in her hands, her nails scratch against his skin and he can feel it, he can feel all of this. 

“End it, grab a pillow off the bed and smother him. Hell wrap that phone cord around his throat.” She kisses him sweetly; her lips are chapped and cold against his. “I know how much you enjoy strangling lovers.” She whispers against his lips. 

He places his hands against her shoulders and shoves her away, he backs away until his back hits against the dresser causing the TV to shake.

“I didn’t want to choke you, I wanted to leave. I didn’t want this or what happened that night, why didn’t you just let me leave?” He asks nearly yelling at her.

She approaches him again, “I know you, the real you, and that’s the you that I love. We can be together, just end this.” She says nodding back towards the bed.

He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, anxiety swells inside him and he desperately wants to scream. He shoves her again harder this time, she stumbles and falls to the ground. 

“I am not going to kill him. What he did is unforgivable and inexcusable, what you did….Making yourself look like her, making me stay with you, that wasn’t okay. I should have just listened to Oswald and not gone to see you that night.” 

“You enjoy me looking this way, like her. C’mon even when we were having sex that night, I know you wanted to call out her name instead of mine and I wouldn’t have minded at all. You love me because I look like a dead girl.”

“Shut up” He growls out as he stalks towards her.

She smirks up at him, blood runs down over her bottom lip dripping onto her chest. “You’re sick just like your dad, even now seeing me. Do you think this is what normal people do?”

“I said shut up!” He yells, he turns away from her closing his eyes tightly.

He counts to ten and thinks about his blackout spells as a child, all the therapists and the doctors trying to find a problem with him. He thinks of the pills and the shots, hallucinations of people that never existed or had long been dead. He thinks of the bodies in his dad’s basement, how badly his dad had beaten him that night when he’d found him down there.

He counts backwards from ten and starts to cry when he realizes he fooled himself into thinking he loved some woman because she resembled his first love. He feels sick with himself when he remembers watching the life go out of Kristen’s eyes, when he held her and screamed his lungs out because he didn’t know what else to do.

He opens his eyes and it’s just them again, no ghosts. 

Ed goes to the bed where Oswald lays, he climbs into bed with him and curls up against his side hiding his face against his shoulder. The other man groans, shifts and tries to move closer but can’t manage it. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” He whispers against his skin.

He’s terrified to leave this bed, he’s terrified of what happens when Oswald will wake up, once things are settled and minds are as cleared as they possibly can be. He doesn’t want to lose him, lose what they had or what they possibly could have together. So for this moment he stays close to his side, clings to him with the thought he might never get to do this again.


End file.
